'Good-bye, Antkowa.'
'Go with God.'
Dyziakowa went out, while the other woman began to put the room in order; she scraped the dirt off the floor, swept it up, strewed wood-ashes, scrubbed her pots and pans and put them in a row. From time to time she turned a look of hatred on to the bed, spat, clenched her fists, and held her head in helpless despair.
'Fifteen acres of land, the pigs, three cows, furniture, clothes—half of it, I'm sure, would come to six thousand… good God!'
And as though the thought of so large a sum was giving her fresh vigour, she scrubbed her saucepans with a fury that made the walls ring, and banged them down on the board.
'May you… may you!' She continued to count up: 'Fowls, geese, calves, all the farm implements. And all left to that trull! May misery eat you up… may the worms devour you in the ditch for the wrong you have done me, and for leaving me no better off than an orphan!'
She sprang towards the bed in a towering rage and shouted:
'Get up! 'And when the old man did not move, she threatened him with her fists and screamed into his face:
'That's what you've come here for, to do your dying here, and I am to pay for your funeral and buy you a hooded cloak… that's what he thinks. I don't think! You won't live to see me do it! If your Julina is so sweet, you'd better make haste and go to her. Was it I who was supposed to look after you in your dotage? She is the pet, and if you think…'
She did not finish, for she heard the tinkling of the bell, and the priest entered with the sacrament.